Disclaimer: They're not mine, sadly. All belong to JKR. I promise I'll hose them down once I'm done with them!
Summary: Draco keeps thinking about Harry Potter, and can't figure out why. When he finds out he's a veela, suddenly it all comes clear. Set after OotP.
Warnings: SLASH! (yes, m/m content! Leave if it squicks you.), language, and, of course, sexual content.
Rating: R
A/N: This is my first Harry/Draco fic, though I read them all the time. It's veela!Draco just because I love seeing that all too much, and it's hard to find good ones. This chapter is mostly back-story, so it might be a bit short. I hope you enjoy this!
"Oh, fuck…fuck, Draco! Yes! Harder! Harder! Oh, Merlin, yes!" cried a hoarse voice. I slammed into whoever it was, my eyes shut tight, trying to avoid sensory overload. My climax was almost within my reach—
And I woke up. With a raging hard-on, I, Draco Malfoy, grumbled and rolled out of bed, getting up and stretching languidly before I crossed my bedroom in silence, went into my bathroom and relieved the pressure in my groin. With that done, I turned the taps on my enormous bathtub and strolled back into my bedroom to distract myself until the bath was ready.
Summer at Malfoy Manor was always a bit of a bore, but this one had been particularly dull thus far. No Potter to torture, I thought with a sigh. Well, that and no father to keep me amused with little lessons and projects.
Father being in Azkaban had been very hard on my poor mother, so I spent a good portion of my time distracting her. I could see that being with me was upsetting and consoling for her, both at once; she saw my father in my face, but the man behind those familiar gray eyes was so different…I knew I fascinated her with the variations.
Although I managed to keep her happy enough, I had a gut feeling that she wished, on some level, that I were a girl—someone she could gossip with and pamper without the situation becoming awkward. And because I wanted to see her happy, I made up a bit of a white lie and told her that I was gay. She had been so excited that I'm still amazed she didn't burst with joy on the spot.
That was when she started taking me shopping, until I had so many clothes I didn't know what to do with them. Mother spent huge quantities of money on the two of us, as if blowing the Malfoy fortune would make all of her problems just…go away.
At first, being a gay man was a game for me; I would stare at other men and comment on their clothing and their physical features to my mother, who would, of course, laugh and exclaim over how "adorable" I was. However, I soon found myself really enjoying this game of mine—even to the extent that on occasion I actually almost drooled over some of the men that we saw.
That was when I realized it: I was seventeen and outrageously gay.
When I wasn't keeping my mother amused, I was working on my figure. It became a habit of mine to take a long run in the evening before bed and to practice Quidditch for at least an hour a day. After all, no self-respecting gay man would ever let his figure go.
At night, after my run, I would shower and get into bed, where I would lay for at least an hour before sleeping, pondering what I could do to Potter once school began again. Little pranks and big plots took root in my mind; I made sure to write them down.
Just as I was settling into this routine, it all changed. I woke up on the thirty-first of July, went into my bathroom, and saw my reflection. Bile rose in my throat at the sight, and I threw my fist into the glass, splitting a few knuckles and shattering the mirror. As soon as I'd done that, my first concern was for the mirror—then I wondered why I'd acted out like that in the first place.
Later the same day, the anger returned full-force, and I yelled at my mother. She looked at me with surprise and hurt; I saw the tears in her eyes and immediately the anger faded, leaving me with guilt and a sense of wonder; why had I been so mad? I tried to comfort her, but she began to sob and told me to go to my room. So, being the good son, I obeyed. But as soon as I closed the doors behind me, the inexplicable anger rose once more, and I picked up the nearest object—a chair—and dashed it against the wall. Other things soon joined the chair in a pile of defunct objects that grew almost exponentially in the middle of my room, until I'd nearly destroyed the whole place.
I stood back and stared in shock at what I'd done and immediately began to clean the place up, calling in my house elf to repair the things I'd broken. (The elves at the Manor are quite adept at this; Father sometimes went into screaming rages and broke all the furniture in his study.) Once everything was back to normal, I sank into my favorite chair and put my head in my hands, fighting tears. The rest of the day was like that.
But today, thankfully, the anger and depression were gone, leaving behind only hope as I went back into my bathroom. The tub was full, so I turned the taps and shed my pajamas, slipping into the hot water with a sigh. I soaked for a bit, thinking to myself.
I hadn't been myself lately. Even as I recalled this, I remembered how, time and time again, I had boiled with rage and nearly destroyed all of my nice furniture. The depressed days, though, were far worse than the angry days. The melancholy feelings kept me feeling low, forcing me to remain in my room, for I could deal with nothing and nobody while I was so down. I hated it; at least I could express the anger with Quidditch or running—there was nothing I could do to stop the sadness.
As the summer began to wane, the rage and the depression attacked me less and less often. More and more frequently, I could just be myself.
On occasion, however, dreams like the one I'd just had pervaded my sleep, waking me with the pain of a horrendous erection. No amount of masturbation would rid me of these monsters, a fact that I careful did not mention to my mother. On the days when I couldn't make the hard-ons go away, I tried my best to avoid everyone.
Strangely enough, on the days preceding the one or two times when I'd been confined to my room due to an erection, mother always commented on how "well" I was looking.
All in all, what had begun as an excellent (although boring) summer had gone to shit. I couldn't wait for school to start again.
A/N: So there you have it, folks. The beginning of a new adventure. Many thanks to my lovely, lovely beta, Herbie!